Entangled (4 page)

Fourth of July weekend was coming up, and since this was his first summer of freedom in five years, Jamal decided he and Dawg would fly to South Beach for the weekend. Rappers, hustlers, and women from all over the United States would be down in Miami, and Jamal knew it would be live. I have to be there, he told himself. He had Dawg call Oceanside Car Rentals and reserve two convertible Porsches.

Mark Pratt had been following Ruff since the day the $85,000 was seized. Ruff hadn’t tried to contact the D.A.’s office to reclaim the money. Trailing Ruff had been a very arduous task. He was a very busy man who was into all sorts of things—most undesirable. A typical day for Ruff usually included a few gambling houses and a strip club. Ruff had even gotten locked up a couple of times for other petty charges while Mark had him under surveillance. Two things were certain: Ruff was definitely a womanizer with at least three different girlfriends who were much too beautiful to be involved with a character like him. Secondly, Ruff was definitely involved in illegal drugs. Mark had observed Ruff accepting money from at least three people a day. He could have busted Ruff a long time ago, but he didn’t want to go for a small amount. He wanted to catch him on the day he picked up from his suppliers. The more drugs, the more leverage Mark would have to make Ruff break down and inform on his connection.

U.S. Air Flight 341 departing from Charlotte for Miami boarded at Concourse C, Gate 18. There was a long line. Most of the patrons were African-Americans in their twenties and early thirties. Jamal and Dawg stood at the very back of the line, each wearing a Hawaiian shirt, shorts from the Sean John summer line, and a new Cartier watch. Their row was close to the back of the plane. A young lady sat in the seat next to the window. Jamal took the middle seat and Dawg sat on the aisle. The woman turned and greeted Jamal. “Hello, I’m Keisha,” she said.

“I’m Jamal.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said. They shook hands.
“Same here,” Jamal smiled. He noticed she was looking at his

A booming voice filled the plane, directing passengers to turn off all electronics and to make sure their seat belts were fastened and seats were upright. Five minutes later they were in the air. Jamal and Keisha talked nonstop during the fifty-five-minute flight. She told him all about her trip to Cancun the year before, and they discovered they had even attended the same high school, but he was a couple of years ahead. She even told him she was an accountant.

“Yeah, I just passed the CPA exam last month,” she said, pulling a card from her purse. “Take one of my cards.” The card read: KEISHA A. FERGUSON, CERTIFIED PUBLIC ACCOUNTANT SPECIALIZING IN PAYROLL AND BOOKEEPING.

Jamal found Keisha very attractive but thought she might be a gold digger. He felt she would be better as a friend.
“So, Keisha, are you down here by yourself?” Jamal asked. “Well, my girlfriend, Dream, is flying in later this evening.” Jamal came to the conclusion that her girlfriend was probably

“I don’t know. I got the itinerary from the Internet. There are so many parties going on. We haven’t decided where we’re going yet.”
“Maybe we can hang out tonight,” Jamal said.
“Well, give me the card back, and I’ll write down the number to the hotel for you.”

Hector, the young Hispanic man at the counter of Oceanside Car Rentals looked afraid when Dawg stared coldly at him. Dawg and Jamal were told that there was only one Porsche left.

“I can g-give you a Grand-Am for half price,” the man said, while staring at Dawg’s huge hands.
“I don’t want no damn Grand-Am. I want what the fuck I reserved!” Dawg yelled.
A crowd of people looked on curiously and the man began to sweat profusely before loosening his tie. “Sir, I don’t know what else to do to accommodate you,” Hector said.
“Go get your damn manager,” Jamal demanded.
The manager was also Hispanic. His nametag read Pedro. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked politely.
“The problem is, I reserved two Porsches and your man is telling me you’ve only got one,” Jamal said.
Pedro told Hector to step aside as he scrolled through several screens on his computer. “Mr. Stewart, I can give you a black convertible Jag for half price.”
Jamal decided he would take the Jaguar, though he would rather have the Porsche. He knew the Jaguar would be better than getting stuck driving some low-budget Grand-Am while all the athletes and rappers ruled the strip in exotic toys. “I guess we’ll take it,” Jamal said, “but I want you to know that I know you got that damn Porsche, and you probably gonna give it to some white mu’fucka.”
Hector gave Jamal a tight-lipped nod. His facial expression indicated that he really didn’t want any trouble from the two black men. Hector made a phone call and had the two vehicles brought to the front door.
Jamal and Dawg left the airport racing until they were about ten miles away from the beach where a long line of cars was at a standstill. Forty-five minutes later, they were pulling up to the Doubletree Hotel on Collins Avenue.

K
EISHA WAS DRIVING A
blood-red convertible when she arrived at ground transportation. Her hair was down, and she wore expensive Versace sunglasses. She jumped out of the car and hugged Dream as if they hadn’t seen each other in years.

When they reached the beach, it overwhelmed Dream. She couldn’t believe how many people were actually on the strip. The crowd was predominately African-American and there was an excess of police officers—crowds and police seemed to go hand in hand.

People from all over the country were there. Rappers were promoting their albums and movies. Every other person was passing out a flyer, announcing a party, fashion show, or another social gathering. The strip was breathtaking. Palm trees and the ocean on one side of the road, shops and restaurants on the other. Expensive cars like Bentleys and Ferraris filled the streets. Scanty clad model-types walked the strip as guys with camcorders recorded their every movement. Dream had been on the strip for ten minutes and she absolutely loved it.

Their hotel was on James Avenue, fifteen minutes away from the main strip, but with the massive crowd cluttering the street, it took them almost an hour to get there. The Crest Hotel was an ordinary stucco building with three levels. Their room was very spacious, equipped with two full-size beds and hardwood floors. The bathroom was tidy with a huge oval tub in the center, contemporary meets classic decor.

The plane ride and the heat had worn the girls down. They sat on the bed and talked for a few minutes and before they knew it, they both were snoozing.

The phone rang at 9:30 P.M. Dream answered it, still half asleep, “Hello.”
“Hello, can I speak to Keisha?”
“She’s asleep. May I ask who’s calling?”
“My name is Jamal. She met me on the plane. Would you let her know that Steve Francis, the NBA nigga, is having a white linen party at Club Onyx? It’s supposed to be happening.”
“I will. What did you say your name was?”
“Jamal, and what’s yours?”
“Dream.”
“Hope to meet you at the party,” he said before hanging up.

Dream dozed for a few more minutes before finally getting out of bed. She decided that it was time for them to get ready if they were going to go out. She reached over to Keisha’s bed and nudged her. “Girl, wake up. I know you didn’t come all the way down here just to sleep.”

Keisha sat up on the edge of the bed and refocused. “Hell, it’s so many different parties going on, I don’t know where to go,” she finally said.

“While you were asleep, some guy named Jamal called. He said you met him on the plane. He asked me to tell you about a whitelinen party some NBA player is having.”

“Oh yeah, I met Jamal and his friend. They were real cool. We should hang out with them since they’re from Charlotte.”
“Sounds like that party might be worth looking into. I brought some linen, what about you?” Dream asked.
“Yeah, I brought some linen pants.”
“Good, because that’s the party I want to go to.”
“Me, too,” Keisha replied, “because I know it’s going to be a lot of brothers there with serious money.”
Dream rolled her eyes teasingly. “Girl, you know our mamas ain’t raise no gold diggers. Besides, you just became a CPA; you’re about to be rolling in money.”
“You’re right. Our mamas didn’t raise no gold diggers, but we didn’t grow up struggling either, and I’m not about to start at this stage of my life.”
“You know you got a lot of competition out there?”
Keisha rose from the bed and sashayed across the room. “Yeah, it’s always like this, but honestly, do you think I give a damn about the competition with a body like this?” she said as she traced her silhouette.
“You’re a ho,” Dream said, giggling.
“No, I keep it real.” Keisha winked.

Keisha called Jamal and they met in front of Club Onyx. Jamal’s eyes met Dream’s and they held the stare for a long time before she extended her hand. “Hey, I think we spoke on the phone,” Dream said.

“Yeah, we did.” Jamal tried to answer her as calmly as possible but he was lost in thought. He wanted her to be his wife. She was stunning. Her eyes were radiant and her skin was dark and smooth. She wore a tight white linen skirt, and it contrasted with her skin artistically.

The line for the party had extended all the way to the middle of street. Jamal decided immediately he wasn’t going to be waiting in anybody’s line for hours. He had come to South Beach to have a good time and that’s exactly what he was going to do. He pulled one of the bouncers to the side. “Listen, man, how much is it going to cost for me and my friends to cut the line?”

“Two hundred dollars apiece, three hundred for VIP,” the bouncer answered.
Jamal pulled out a handful of hundred-dollar bills from his pocket, peeled off twelve, and handed them to the bouncer. “Take us to VIP,” he ordered.
The huge bald-headed man grinned while quickly stuffing the money in his pocket. He then shoved several people out of his way to make room for the group.
The club was crowded with people, almost on top of one another. Jamal asked Dawg to take Keisha to the dance floor so he could be alone with Dream. Jamal led Dream to the outside patio, and they sat facing the crowded South Beach streets. He was so taken by her beauty that he wanted to leave for Charlotte with her tonight. “You know I really dig your name.”
She smiled. It was a corny line, she thought, but she had been hearing it all her life. “Thank you.”
“So, Dream, where are you from?”
“Earth,” she said teasingly.
He smiled. He liked a woman with a sense of humor.
“I’m from Charlotte, North Carolina,” Dream said.
“Me, too. I’ve never seen you before.”
“Well, I’ve never seen you before, either, but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t from Charlotte.”
He hesitated before speaking. “I lived in Orlando for a while before returning home this year.” The Federal prison had been close to Orlando but he claimed Orlando assuming it might impress Dream. It sounded worldlier.
Her eyebrows rose. “Really?” she asked, pretending to be interested.
“So what do you do in Charlotte besides posing as an absolute beauty queen?”
She blushed. “I’m a history teacher.”
He couldn’t believe she was a teacher. He had expected her to say something like modeling or a makeup artist not teaching. She didn’t strike him as the teacher type. He knew if he were in school, he would find it hard to concentrate in a classroom with her, though he wouldn’t mind her teaching him a few things. Jamal didn’t know what else to talk about. She was the most beautiful woman he had been in contact with since he had been released from prison. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
“Seltzer water.”
“You don’t drink alcohol, huh?”
“I don’t drink around people that I don’t know.”
He laughed out loud before disappearing inside the club. He spotted Dawg at the bar with a bottle of Moet in his hand.
“What’s up, Soldier?” Dawg asked.
“Nothing, man, I’m just out on the patio chilling with that Dream chick. The fine-ass woman is a damn teacher.”
“Well her friend is acting like it’s all about these tall-ass NBA niggas but she don’t even know we got money like these mu’fuckas. That’s cool, though, ’cause I got these two bisexual women from Miami on my jock.”
Jamal laughed.
“Well, don’t wait up on me ’cause I’m in for a long night,” Dawg assured him.
When Jamal returned to the patio, he found Dream sitting with perfect posture. When she stood to receive her drink, he noticed how well-proportioned her body was. Her breasts were small but delicious looking. Her ass was round and firm, and when she turned to the side he could see that she was wearing a thong. He became aroused immediately. He handed her the seltzer water. “Did you miss me?” he asked.
“Yeah, I counted the seconds you were away,” she teased.
She took her position back on the bench and he sat beside her.
“So, Ms. Dream, do you have a man?”
She turned from his gaze. “Kinda.”
“How can you
kinda
have a man?”
She turned and faced him again. “Let’s just say we’re not exactly getting along right now.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked before taking a sip of his Corona.
“Long story.”
“I got time.”
She put her legs across his lap.
He stared at her well-defined calves and his arousal returned.
“Let’s just enjoy the moment, the mood and the moonlight,” she said.
Two hours later the crowd on the patio had grown dramatically. Dream and Jamal sat talking about everything while holding hands. The pale moonlight fell down on their faces.

The next morning, Jamal woke up with Dream on his mind. Though there were thousands of fine women at the beach, he wanted Dream. Her beauty went beyond the skin. She wasn’t just another pretty face. Her conversation was seasoned with substance, and he felt connected to her in a way that he could not explain. He showered, got dressed, repossessed the Jaquar from the valet, and slipped in his Tupac CD. Tupac was like religion to Jamal. He loved what the rapper had represented before passing away. Tupac was a young black man who was from the slums, a man who was not supposed to make it but did, against all odds. Jamal felt in some ways he and Tupac’s lives were parallel.